


Blast From the Past

by stackcats



Category: The A-Team (2010)
Genre: M/M, OT3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 21:05:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5430776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stackcats/pseuds/stackcats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally posted on the A-Team kink meme</p><p>Prompt: So [the prompter's] fic ended with Hannibal and Face having their first time together. My prompt is that Hannibal and Face have been an established couple for a while now, still in the army, with Hannibal being around 35, Russ 40-45 and Face still in his pre-20's, nineteen maybe. Idk.</p><p>The idea is that in the few years they've been together in training/bed, Face has never been allowed to top. He's wanted to, tried to instigate it, but Hannibal has just totally alpha-male'd him into submission.</p><p>So on his Major's birthday, Face goes out and brings a *real* alpha male home, someone that he *knows* Boss won't be able to take down. His former Boss and ex-lover, General Russell Morrison.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is copied, entirely unedited, from the A-Team kinkmeme, and was written in 2011

”Trust me Templeton, you'll grow and I'll just love watching it…”

Hannibal never forgot saying that to Face - could hardly forget the circumstances under which he’d said it - and it’s possibly the most accurate statement of fact he’s ever made. 

Templeton has grown. He has grown beautifully, beyond even Hannibal’s wildest dreams. And he was right - Face has gained a few inches in the last three years, and he’s filled out his frame too. Tall and strong and fast, faster than any of his contemporaries, and a fuckload smarter too, no contest there. Hannibal couldn’t be more proud of the kid if he was his own son.

But he’s not the boy’s father. It’s so much better than that. One nagging worry at the back of Hannibal’s mind has begun to lay itself to rest lately. He always feared the kid might grow tired of him, might realise there were many, many men closer to his own age who’d gladly take him to bed, who could fall in love with him, but Face has remained his, and their bond has only become tighter, so intense that sometimes Hannibal has trouble pretending in public that he’s nothing more than the kid’s commanding officer and his mentor. Face is better at the act, but then, he’s proven to be an extremely clever little conman. 

He’s proven himself as a lot of other things too. Loyal, brave, wholly trustworthy. He’ll risk himself for his teammates, he’ll push himself extra lengths to ensure he never lets anybody down, and even in their downtime he takes care of them, of Hannibal and the team, scrounging luxury items in the middle of nowhere, or coming up with drinking games, or teaching the new boys - because Face isn’t the youngest team member any more - how to cheat at cards. He’s a team player. He is, as General Morrison put it just the other day, a right fucking star. And the man had said it with affection, without a trace of irony. 

Hannibal couldn’t even find it in him to agree, because the sentiment couldn’t come close to the overwhelming admiration he has for Face. For the love he feels for him. That, he can only show his boy at night, when they can be completely alone.

Like tonight, their first together in weeks. Mission wrapped up, and time to blow off some steam. The boys have been at the officer’s club for the past few hours. In fact, almost every officer on camp seems to be here, from the admin staff all the way up to the General himself, who’s right here beside Hannibal, laughing along with Lieutenant Price’s somewhat exaggerated account of the mission. Face is there with Price, correcting him on details, making the whole thing sound even more implausible and ridiculous, he and Price trying to out-do each other. Hannibal couldn’t be more delighted to see Face making and maintaining friendships within the team, and that just draws his own laughter ever louder, ever more free, as Face builds himself up into some kind of super sniper.

“And then,” Price says, holding his hands up dramatically - and Hannibal has just noticed, out of the corner of his eye, that there’s a pool going on the next table over how much of this is true - “Just when me and the Boss thought we were gonners, AceFace here-”

“Shoots the bullet clean out of the air with one of my own,” Face concludes, examining his own fingernail in faux-modesty. “It was nothing guys, honest...”

A groan goes up on the next table, as everyone tries to re-claim their cash. Morrison chuckles and shakes his head.

“John, I believe your boys are trying to bullshit me.”

“Not at all,” Hannibal grins across the table at Face as he picks up his beer. “Russ, honest to god, these men out-ran that explosion-”

“”Bull-”

“And saved all those puppies-”

“-Shit.”

“Oh,” says Price, “and we forgot to mention the hostiles were all zombies-”

“-except the werewolf squad,” Face adds.

At the next table, several people are cursing the boys’ names for all eternity. Russ just laughs again and picks up his own beer, free hand coming to rest on Hannibal’s back, rubbing slightly. Hannibal grins at his team and leans back into that companionable touch, solid and familiar, bumping his knee affectionately against Russ’ under the table. It’s nothing, represents nothing more than fifteen years of friendship, but Face locks on. The grin fades from his face as he stares across at Hannibal and Morrison, but what replaces it is... strange. Not envy, or anything of the sort. His boy is usually the jealous type, would normally be pouting and snipping and trying to get into Hannibal’s personal space if he sensed any kind of threat to his claim on his commander, but that look, right there?

It’s curiosity. Hannibal quirks an eyebrow at him, to which Face shrugs and goes back to bickering with Price over how many hundreds of kills they each apparently got.

But Hannibal is getting restless. He’s intrigued by the kid’s reaction, and, yes, okay, he’s getting a little fired up by that constant touch from his former lover, but it’s Face’s collar he grabs as he rises from his seat.

“C’mon, kiddo. Long day tomorrow, and you need your rest. Same to the rest of you,” he adds, mock-glaring at the team, who throw him appropriate mock-salutes in return. 

“Good night, boys,” Russ drawls, throwing Hannibal a surreptitious wink.

They linger over their good-nights to the team. Have to, not much choice, can’t be seen rushing off together. But Face fake-stifles a fake-yawn, and Hannibal bundles him out the door, muttering about paperwork and training, the laughter of the rest of the team at their back as they step from the well-lit warmth of the officers’ club into the faint, fading chill of a spring evening.

There’s no one around, so Hannibal risks a hand on Face’s shoulder as they walk back to his place. They look for all the world like a young soldier and his older mentor. Nothing untoward going on here, folks! Definitely no homo. Just a nice stroll back to Hannibal’s place, where he fully intends to strip the lad, throw him onto the bed and proceed to -

“Boss?”

Hannibal blinks out of his reverie. “Yeah, kid?”

“You’ve never told me what happened.”

“I tell you lots of things that happen. You’ll need to be more specific than-”

“What happened, I mean, with you and Morrison?”  
Hannibal shakes his head. “Must’ve told you. I’m sure I did.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yeah, kid. That’d be a pretty big detail for me to overlook. Therefore, we must have discussed it already. Therefore, we are not discussing it now.”

Face stares at him like he’s a difficult child trying to get out of a chore. “Nice try.”

“Face, I-”

“I’m just interested. That’s all. I want to understand.”

Hannibal shrugs. “Nothing happened,” he says. He opens the front door of their apartment building and bundles Face towards the elevator. And it’s pretty much true. Nothing happened, the end. But Face is not going to let it lie there unless he does something to distract the lad.

So as soon as the elevator door opens, he shoves Face inside, presses him up against the wall, and kisses him stupid while palm-mashing the elevator buttons with a free hand.

“Missed you, Temp,” he growls against soft lips. Bites at the lower one, gently, tugging, before diving back in to claim that mouth again.

“I’ve been by your side the whole time,” Face murmurs. 

“Yeah, and that’s all that keeps me alive when we can’t be alone together.”

“Bullshit. You old romantic.”

Hannibal laughs, kisses Face again, one hand dropping low to grab the younger man’s balls, rolling, stroking with his hand. He can feel that Face is already hard, but he ignores that hot erection and presses his hand back, searching for that spot Face loves to be touched, and finds it, stroking up and feeling his cock turn to solid steel as Face gasps and whines. So vocal, his boy. So responsive and so, so beautiful...

Face wraps his arms around Hannibal’s neck and kisses him hard, one leg hooking up round the taller man’s hip. Hannibal withdraws his hand so he can buck his hips against Face, grinding them together, and reaches for the elevator controls again, finding the door close button just as the doors begin to part.

But right now he just needs, and Face is right there with him, chasing climax, wrapping around each other, touching and tasting like they haven’t in so long. Everything builds fast, each tiny touch between them sparking them higher, and Hannibal feels the weight of the last mission finally fall away from him as Face pushes back from the wall, shoving Hannibal against the opposite side of the lift. The kid grabs his ass, squeezes, slides his fingers across Hannibal’s tailbone and down, between his cheeks, brushing across that most sensitive area, and it feels good for a moment. But.

“C’mere, kid,” he growls, gathering Face up, pushing him against the third wall and pulling his legs out from under him. Face yelps and grabs hold of Hannibal’s shoulders, wrapping his legs around his waist. “Fuck,” he moans, as Face bucks his hips. He crushes their mouths together again, pushes in, chases the kid’s tongue with his own, drawing an assortment of wonderful sounds from the younger man as he ruts against his lover. One fist clenched tight in Hannibal’s hair, the other hand holding on to his shirt for dear life, Face does a damn good job of riding him even from his position crammed between the Boss and the wall. It’s one of the things Hannibal really loves about sex with Face - the kid’s a bottom, but he isn’t submissive, won’t just roll over, always puts up a bit of a tussle before allowing Hannibal to pin him down. And even then he doesn’t lie there and take it. He gives back as good as he gets, and right now Hannibal’s giving it to him pretty damn good.

It’s not long after that before Face falls apart, moaning John! as the first hot spurts of semen slick the skin of their bellies. Hannibal isn’t far behind. He takes them both in hand again, stroking hard and fast, drawing out their orgasms, mingling their release until there’s nothing left. He slumps forward, drops his head to Face’s shoulder and kisses his boy’s hot skin, panting for breath as they hold each other up.

“John,” Face purrs, hands stroking down Hannibal’s back. Hannibal kisses him. Softly at first, then deeper, everything more mellow now in the afterglow of orgasm. But that doesn’t last long. This has barely taken the edge off his need. What they have to do now is somehow get from the elevator to their apartment, half-undressed and covered in some pretty damning evidence.

“Let’s move,” he says, zipping up his fly. “Get you into bed...”

“Mmm, yeah.” Face kisses him, pushing him back towards the doors. “So many things I wanna do to you, Boss...”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, like-”

But Hannibal knows what Face wants, and he’s already got his plan, so he silences Face with a gesture they normally use on the job, and presses the door-open button, hand ready over the close button just in case there are hostiles out there.

“Clear,” he murmurs. 

“Of course it’s clear,” Face says, behind him, “everyone else on this floor is back at the club.” And if there’s a not of irritation in his tone, Hannibal misses it entirely. He’s too busy pulling out his keys and charging towards the apartment door like his life depends on it.


	2. 2

Face is not in the habit of discussing his sex life with anybody. At all. Ever. He is, after all, fucking his commanding officer. The army disapproves of that even if you aren’t both very much of the male persuasion. 

He certainly never anticipated discussing his sex life with his commander’s commander. The Boss’ Boss. His lover’s first great romance, and the man who is still his closest friend. All that adds up to somebody it should be, at the very least, mildly embarrassing to talk to about anything that happens in private in Hannibal’s bedroom. 

But events have conspired to land Face here, in General Morrison’s office, just before lunchtime the next day. Well. Perhaps not events as such, but ideas. Curiosities. And several failures on Face’s part. It’s been going on for a while now, ever since he finally gave in to Hannibal’s insistence that they are complete equals in bed, ever since he started to truly believe it. The first time Hannibal brushed off Face’s attempt at topping him, Face assumed they just weren’t ready. Maybe Face needed more guidance for that than Hannibal’s libido would allow him to indulge in right then. 

The second time Hannibal alpha-maled him into submission, Face figured his lover just preferred it that way, but they’d get around to swapping roles eventually. He held onto that thought for a while, and didn’t push. Just enjoyed being with the man he loved in any way at all. And he stayed in that frame of mind for about a year, waiting for Hannibal to ask to be fucked, as he was bound to eventually. After all, Face finds it an extremely pleasurable experience. Of course Hannibal would want to do it, and of course they would get there... but Hannibal never asked, never gave the faintest suggestion that he wanted to switch off.

So Face started pushing again. Just a little, each time. Just enough to make it plain what he wanted, and give Hannibal the chance to indulge him. But Hannibal never took the hint, simply overwhelmed and subdued him and nailed him to the mattress night after night after night...

The early days of their relationship were hectic. Mission followed mission in quick succession, and they spent their time moving around with the team, airdropping into various hostile territories, getting into trouble, getting out of it again, saving people’s lives, getting injured, being heroes, having a hell of a lot of fun and experiencing terror like nothing else. But just recently, things have calmed down. Longer stretches between jobs, more down time. More time on base. More time together. More time to think.

And what Face has been thinking about is Hannibal’s past. Inevitable, really, that he should dwell on the substantial chunk of adult life Hannibal lived before Face showed up. That he should wonder about the experiences that made his man who he is today.

And one of those experiences is the General. Face accepted pretty quickly that he’d have to interact with his lover’s ex on a regular basis, because he didn’t have anything resembling a choice, and besides, the General doesn’t intimidate him at all. Russell Morrison is the type of commander you’re lucky to get. Stern but kind. Easy to talk to on a one-to-one basis, a fair enforcer of the rules, willing to listen to all sides of an issue before passing judgement. He’s usually got an ear to spare for any of his men, and he’s looked up to and respected by everybody. Face can see why Hannibal is so fond of him. Morrison isn’t the sort of general whose career revolves around ass-kissing, but one who is more concerned about his job and his men. And he doesn’t allow anybody to fool him. Ever. Face liked the man as soon as he saw how much Hannibal admired him, but since then he’s come to like the General for his own merit. 

And, in light of his Hannibal-related musings, he’s been thinking a lot about Morrison too. And there are a few things he can’t quite reconcile with each other:

Hannibal’s first serious romance was with Morrison. Face doesn’t know how long they were together, but it was a substantial amount of time, and there’s no question whether it was a sexual relationship. 

Hannibal doesn’t seem to like anybody topping or dominating him.

And Morrison does not, in any conceivable way, look like he’d bend over for anybody either. He’s literally the alpha male around here. The ultimate Boss. Top dog on a base full of testosterone-fuelled, muscle-packing manly men. 

So Face has meandered to the conclusion that, if somebody in that relationship was taking it up the ass, it was probably Hannibal. A far younger, less rugged, more naive Hannibal perhaps, but the man himself just the same. In light of this revelation, Face has found himself far more intrigued than ever by the General.

He doesn’t have the first clue what he’s going to say to Morrison when he arrives at the office, just after half past twelve. He wants to ask a hundred different things, about Hannibal, about Morrison, about then and now and everything in between. But there’s no easy way to approach this, no one’s ever written a guide on how to broach the subject of a general officer’s love life, and so, as he’s welcomed into the large, tidy office, Face is both relieved and utterly bemused to discover he doesn’t have to.

“Lieutenant Peck,” Morrison says, smiling at him as he answers Face’s salute. “Face... sit down, kid. I don’t think we need to stand on ceremony, do we?”

“No, sir,” Face says, dropping into the chair on his side of the desk. Morrison has a stack of paperwork in front of him and Face feels guilty for interrupting, but the look on the General’s face as he shoves the stack to one side says he’s been waiting for a distraction all morning. And Face is good at distraction if nothing else. He sits there for a moment as Morrison digs around in a drawer for something to smoke, and ponders how to begin this discussion about their mutual friend.

But Morrison does what Generals do best, and kicks Face’s expectations out from under him.

“So, you figured it out then.”

Face stares from the cigarette he’s being offered, to Morrison’s face, then back down again. His mind does a little somersault, but he still isn’t quite sure what the man means. He shakes his head.

“Smoking makes you dead, sir.”

“Being a soldier makes you dead, but would you give it up for a little sticky arm patch?”

Face would not. And he still doesn’t know what it is he’s supposed to have figured out, so he shrugs. “No, sir. Sir? Figured out what?”

“You came to talk to me about Hannibal, right?”

“Yeah. How’d you know that?”

“Well.” Morrison studies him across the desk. “It is about that time of year.”

What. Face blanks. Outright stares at him. Time of...? What? Is it mating season, or something? Is Hannibal about to come into heat? What?

“But he’d never tell you himself,” Morrison continues. “Doesn’t like to draw any attention to it, but that doesn’t mean he actually wants you to ignore it if you already know. So you gotta give him something. Something good, okay, kid?”

Face nods slowly, expression carefully blank as he tries to get a grip on this conversation.

“I wish I could give you some tips, kid, but so long as it’s done with thought, and you put care and effort into it, he won’t mind how big it is.”

“How big-”

“Cost doesn’t matter.”

“Cost.”

“It’s the thought that c-”

Lightbulb. “Are you saying it’s Hannibal’s birthday?”

Morrison scowls. “Of course it’s Hannibal’s birthday. What the hell did you think I was talking about? That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

“No,” says Face. “Er. No, it isn’t. But thank you for that. I had no idea. When is it?”

“Next Friday, first of the month. So what did you want to talk to me about?”

Face shrugs. “I dunno. I guess... the reason why you know his birthday and I don’t.”

“That’s easy enough. I’ve read his file.” Morrison smiles kindly at him. “Is something wrong, Lieutenant?”

He shakes his head, fidgeting slightly in his seat. “No, sir, not exactly.” 

“Take your time, why don’t you.”

Morrison sits back, regarding him thoughtfully, the ghost of that smile still at the corner of his mouth. Face chews his lip as he tries to arrange his thoughts. The General’s a big guy, a little taller than Face himself, pushing forty-five but still what Face would call ruggedly handsome. He has sharp eyes and a kind mouth, and doesn’t look comfortable behind a desk, though he’s far less uneasy trapped in his office now than he was three years ago, when Face first met him. He’s a good man, a wise man. Hannibal’s closest friend. There are very few high ranking officers Face respects anywhere near as much as he does General Morrison.

Which actually makes it a little harder to vocalise his thoughts. But now that he’s here, he has to. It’d be stupid and pointless to back out now.

“I’ve been thinking a lot lately, sir,” Face admits, looking down at his hands. “About Hannibal. And, well. His past.”

He glances up, not sure what to expect, but Morrison is still just watching him. After a moment, when Face adds nothing more, the General nods.

“There some old war story you want me to elaborate on? The old boy can be a bit closed-lipped when it comes to past missions.”

“No, sir. It’s more, um, personal than that. If I may.”

“Personal, huh?”

“Yes, sir. See, I was wondering what happened, y’know, between him and you, and... it seemed sensible just to come straight out and ask.”

“But you haven’t asked him.”

Face shakes his head. “Once, briefly, but. No. Not really. I don’t think I can. I mean, I know I can ask him anything, but I don’t think he’d appreciate it. Like you said, sir, he doesn’t like talking about his past much, so... here I am, I guess.”

Morrison’s smiling again, and he’s clearly amused, which is... a good sign? At least he hasn’t tossed Face out the door for his impudence. He does, though, reach out one hand as casual as anything switch off his computer. Then he runs a hand under the bottom of the desk, which... Face isn’t even considering asking about that. He can think of a dozen good reasons why a man would bug his own office, but he can’t ask. Can’t say anything else yet. Has to take his cue from the General.

And then Morrison is leaning back again, hands on the arms of his chair, regarding Face thoughtfully.

“Me and Hannibal, huh?”

“Sir. I’m honestly just curious about it. How did it end between you guys? How’d you stay friends with him?”

The older man nods. “Perfectly understandable that you’d wonder about it. But do you think you really want to know the answer?”

Face nods without a second thought. “Yes. Yes, sir. If you don’t mind telling me, of course.”

Morrison seems to consider that for a moment. Then he sighs, stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray, and pins Face with his cool, level gaze.

“I wanted this promotion,” he says, quietly. “We’re going back about ten years here, son, and I already had my mind set on this job. Hannibal knew that. And I knew that he... that we needed plenty of time for ourselves if we were going to stay strong. But I wouldn’t spare that time, and he wouldn’t compromise. We were both stubborn. I worked when I didn’t have to, when I could have been with him, and he wouldn’t forgive me for it. Which I wouldn’t forgive him for. I wanted him to wait for me, and he wanted... not to be asked to wait, I guess.” The General pauses, looking past Face, staring at something Face can’t see. Then he sighs again, sadly. “We fought, and he asked for a transfer, and I filled out the forms and then, then son, we were both there in my office looking at these transfer forms. John ran his hand across the paper and said that is you breaking us up. We tore up the forms and he stayed, but it was done. I’d signed them. I’d agreed to send him away. I’d told him I could live without him”

Face realises, all of a sudden, why Morrison asked if he really wanted to know. He’d been expecting something else. A gradual drift apart, perhaps, or a sudden lack of sexual attraction, or... not a fight. Not an actual disagreement. He can’t imagine fighting with Hannibal, can’t imagine the Boss being genuinely angry or upset with him. Or with Morrison, for that matter. They always seem so comfortable with each other. No - they are comfortable with each other. 

“So how’d you fix it?” he asks, leaning forward in his seat.

Morrison reaches across the desk, picks up a photo frame from the little forrest of them clustered at one end of his desk. Face has seen them dozens of times, those photographs. Family pictures - nieces and nephews, parents, siblings. And right among all that is this gold-framed picture of Morrison and Hannibal, smiling at the camera, arms round each other’s shoulders in what Face always figured as a pretty good impression of just-friends-honest-sir. They are quite clearly on a skiing holiday together, with a couple of other guys, other friends, in the background. 

Morrison turns the picture round to show Face.

“That’s about a month after we stopped seeing each other. Right about the time we remembered how much we actually like each other. Started putting effort into being friends, no pressure or expectations. Just friends. I guess we fit better that way.”

“And that’s it?” Face asks, fingers brushing the edge of the photo frame. Hannibal, ten years younger than when they met. Hair still dark, face flushed from the cold. Handsome as ever.

“Not quite it. There were a few nights after that, once we found a comfotable balance. The attraction was still there. So long as we kept the pressure off, it was good. Maybe a couple of times a year, till you came along.” There’s no resentment there, Face notes. Thank god for that. 

“Friends with benefits, huh?”

“You could say that.”

“Do you miss it?” Face asks, curiosity overtaking him before he can stop himself.

Morrison shrugs. It’s a gesture of uncertainty that doesn’t suit him, and Face regrets the question.

“There’s no one else I trust like Hannibal, so I suppose, in a sense, I miss the physical side. That too much information for you yet, son?”

Face shakes his head. “No such thing, sir.”

“Ha! Good man.”

They sit in silence for a moment, both lost in thought. Morrison puts the photograph back in its place, and Face studies him carefully. He still can’t get his head around the idea of Hannibal actually having a physical relationship with this guy. Not unless they somehow found a way to balance things perfectly, so that neither of them had to take on anything remotely resembling a submissive role...

And it happens again. Before his brain can interject and point out that this is his Boss’ boss, this is the base commander, and he has absolutely no place asking these things, that he could get into a lot of trouble over this if Morrison takes offence, but the words are already leaping from the tip of his tongue and there’s nothing he can do to stop them.

“How, exactly, did that work with you guys? Sir. I mean. Uh, physically...”

Morrison raises his eyebrows. “When you said ‘personal’, son, I didn’t think you meant quite that... There is something going on with you, isn’t there? Something’s wrong. Maybe it’s time you spoke to me instead of the other way around.”

Face nods. That’s only fair. Morrison has given him a lot here, so he ought to give a little back. And besides, this is the only man in the entire world who could possibly help him out with this little problem.

“Sir, uh... he won’t. Um, he won’t let me...”

“In your own time.”

Face pauses, takes a breath. Reminds himself that whatever issues he’s having with Hannibal in bed, this man has probably encountered them too.

“He won’t let me... not that I’ve really asked, but I’ve tried to... In bed, I mean, when we... Uh.” Face clears his throat, decides to go right for it. “He won’t let me fuck him, sir. He doesn’t seem to like, uh...”

Morrison’s eyebrows rise again. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Face fidgets, feeling his face and neck heating up, but Morrison doesn’t look perturbed at all. He does look a little puzzled though.

“You’ve never...?”

“No, sir. He lets me touch him sometimes... there. But never anything more than that. He always makes me stop, or just pushes me down and takes control, and I love it, I do, but it made me curious. And then I thought about you, and...”

Morrison is defintiely trying not to smile now. That puzzled expression still in place too. Face sighs. Just as he’d figured.

“Oh, he likes it,” Morrison says, losing his battle against the grin that breaks across his face. “You’ve just gotta earn it.”

“What? I’ve been with him three years-”

“I don’t mean literally. He’s not ticking off a mental check list in his head, or waiting for you to put in a certain amount of time. It’s a subconscious thing, with him, and you’ve got to solve the puzzle. Make him realise just how much he does want it.”

“What if I do just ask him straight up, sir?”

“What do you reckon?”

Face knows the answer to that. “He’ll pretend not to hear,” he answers morosely, “roll me over to expose my soft underbelly and fuck me right through the mattress.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So... his puzzle, sir? What’s the answer?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“But-”

“I can’t tell you because I don’t know your answer. You think it’s as simple as that? Just tickle him in the right place and he lets you fuck him?”

“I guess not, sir.”

Morrison puts his PC back on again, and straightens in his chair, and Face knows that his welcome has just run out. The General is a busy man. He can’t sit around discussing his second-in-command’s sex life all day. And Face figures he himself has plenty to be doing today too. 

So he thanks the older man and heads for the door. Morrison nods at him, smile faded now but eyes still kind, and Face’s mind begins to whirr again. All day, as he works and eats and heads home to look for Hannibal, his brain buzzes away, thoughts of Hannibal and Morrison and himself and puzzles and... birthdays.

Oh yes, he remembers, as he slips the key into the lock. Next Friday. October 1st, Hannibal’s birthday. 

And the plan begins to form.


	3. 3

_Fifteen years ago._

_October 1st_

_First Lieutenant John Smith stood very smartly to attention as his commander did a neat circuit around him, inspecting him carefully. Full uniform, everything pressed and polished, hair freshly cut and carefully combed back. Nails clean and cut short, face closely shaved. He’d even scrubbed behind his ears. No detail spared for this inspection. This... close inspection._

_Three months he’d waited for tonight. Three long, busy months since the Major’s control finally snapped and he pinned his Lieutenant down in the dirt and took him. Took him as best they could manage in the middle of nowhere with nothing but a handful of spit, which amounted to... not quite as much as John had hoped, since Russ refused to hurt him, but the Major held him down and John had clung to him, and mouths had clashed and friction built, and though it wasn’t everything it was more than John had dared to hope for._

_Since then, it’d been three months of furtive hand-jobs and blow-jobs whenever a private moment could be found. And that wasn’t very often at all. Now, though..._

_Now they were home. Major Morrison’s home. Lieutenant Smith, all cleaned up, reporting for duty._

_He’d figured this one out himself, what the Major would want from him. They were soldiers. Rough, dirty sex was pretty much SOP, and Russ loved it, so John had concocted this little game. Showered for almost half an hour before he headed over here. Cleaned off all the dirt and dust and blood, cleaned off the sweat. Made himself presentable, more than presentable. Made himself look like a soldier. Like the highly-trained, highly-disciplined, shining example of the USA’s finest the instructors at Ranger school insisted he was._

_And when he let himself in, and presented himself in the Major’s kitchen, Russ’ eyes lit up like all his birthdays had come at once. And that, seeing that look of admiration and lust in his man’s eyes, was enough of a birthday for John himself. Enough, yes, but now he dared to hope for even more, for everything._

_Russ’s inspection seemed to take a very long time, and apparently he became distracted once he made it round behind John’s back. One finger slid up beneath his collar, and John carefully suppressed a shudder. A heavy hand across his shoulder, down his spine. And a moment, just a moment, where he wasn’t sure he was ready for what they were going to do that night. He’d killed men. He’d lost pints of blood over the last few months. He’d lied and manipulated and stolen and charmed and fought tooth and nail, but this... this was more difficult. This would expose him, force him to take on a certain vulnerability and..._

_But this was Russ. And that was Russ’ steady, careful touch, fingers caressing the curve of his ass. Russ, who’d earned his respect, who’d earned his love, who’d grabbed him and thrown him down and held him in the dirt as they finally found each other..._

_“You,” Russ murmured, right against his ear, “clean up beautifully, my boy. Did you do all this for me? Huh? Or do you just like to brush up for your birthday?”_

_“For you, sir,” John said, voice miraculously steady. That earned him a squeeze to the ass and a quick, hot kiss to his earlobe. He held still, standing to attention, trying to ignore his rapidly hardening erection, trying to look professional. He could do that, back straight, eyes front. He’d become very well practiced at pretending to give a fuck about military decorum._

_“Really?” Russ purred, that hand moving up now, sliding over the fabric of his uniform jacket. “Such a good boy... such a good soldier.”_

_“Yes, sir.” John was very careful not to move a muscle as Russ began to move again, slowly completing his circuit. The Major was looking for something to shout him out on. A hair out of place, a crease, a sweat stain, anything. But there was nothing. He was perfect._

_Oh yeah, he thought, as Russ’ gaze dropped to the bulge at the front of his pants. Except for that._

_He cracked a very un-regimental grin. “Reporting for duty, sir.”_

_That was it. Spell broken. Russ manhandled him out of the kitchen and into the bedroom. The tie was tugged off, the shirt buttons popped, the carefully smoothed hair ruffled and pulled. Skin exposed and licked and scratched. Trousers rumpled. Blood rising, sweat slicking, breath panting, and Russ went exactly where John knew he would, taking him apart, that perfect soldier dismantled and roughed up and turned into a gasping, writhing, moaning mess of-_

“Boss? What’re you thinking about?”

Hannibal blinks away the memory and stares at Face across the dinner table. The kid looks a little weary. He’s got that slight frown that betrays the fact that he’s spent the day deep in thought. That doesn’t really add up - the team’s reports were all filed yesterday. There’s been nothing for him to dwell on today. Nothing work-related, anyway. 

And the kid’s asking him that question? He hates that question. 

“Just thinking,” he says. 

Face leers at him. “About me?”

Hannibal shrugs. “I am now.”

Normally, that’d be all it took, all the communication necessary to get both of them away from the table and into bed. But Face’s lewd grin fades after a moment, and he goes back to his dinner. Still looking thoughtful. Hannibal watches him carefully. Something’s up.

“Boss,” says Face, at length. He’s twirling his fork in his spaghetti, the pasta going round and round, but he doesn’t lift it to his mouth. He does glance up at Hannibal again though.

“Yeah, kid? What’s the matter?”

A shrug. “I’ve just been thinking, that’s all.”

“What about?”

There’s a moment’s hesitation before Face lifts his fork, letting the pasta fall away, and then begins twisting it up again. “You and the General. And the fact that you won’t tell me anything about you guys.”

Hannibal hasn’t blushed since he was fourteen and accidentally walked into a girls’ bathroom at school. He certainly doesn’t blush now, doesn’t wonder if Face just caught him out, somehow new he was revisiting an old memory as they sat eating in silence. Of course not. That’d be ridiculous.

“It’s ancient history,” he says.

“Yeah?” Face looks up, raises an eyebrow. “Cause you talk to me about ancient history all the time. Just yesterday you were on about Scipio somethingorother, I really wasn’t listening, but the point is, you don’t shy away from talking about the past, you just don’t want to tell me about you and Morrison. That’s kinda weird, Boss.”

Hannibal shakes his head. It isn’t weird, not wanting to discuss past affairs with his current lover. And Face is so trusting, so loyal. And Face has never been with any other man besides Hannibal, never loved anyone except for him, so maybe he feels as though - No. It’s perfectly normal of him. And it’s none of Face’s business anyway, is it?

“So I figured it out myself,” Face adds, softly, looking back down at his food.

“Did you now?” Hannibal shakes his head. Figured it out, huh? There’s nothing to figure out. Kid’s imagining things.

“Yeah, sure. You’ve still got a thing for him, right?”

Hannibal almost chokes on a chunk of bread. Once he’s got his breath back, he glares at Face, who’s patting him on the back.

“A... a what? No, kid. There’s no thing. You’re the only person-”

“I’m the only person you’re fucking, Boss, sure, but I’m not the only guy you think about. Right?”

“No! Not right. For god’s sake, Face, me and Russ? That was over before you even arrived on base, you don’t have to worry-”

“I’m not worried.” It’s said with such soft sincerity that Hannibal is, momentarily, lost for words. A rare treat for both of them. Face smiles at him. “I like the General, he’s a great guy. Why would I worry about you liking him too?”

“That’s not... quite the same, is it, Face?”

“So you admit that you still think about him in that way? I don’t mind, John, honestly. I’m just curious. You’re still attracted to him... maybe a bit in love with him?”

Hannibal sighs and shakes his head slowly. “I’m in love with you.”

“I know that. I’m not questioning that. But it’s not impossible to love more than one person-”

“Face. C’mon, kid, I...” Hannibal has every intention of denying it, denying everything, but he catches Face’s gaze and discovered that he can’t say no. Can’t tell Face he doesn’t feel anything at all for Russ. He wants to deny it, but he can’t. Because it isn’t true, and no matter what, he can’t lie to Templeton Peck.

“Okay,” he says quietly, prodding at the food on his plate with his fork. “Okay. Sometimes, yes. Me and Russ had some good times and... Look, what brought this on? Why are you pressing this, kid?”

The Lieutenant shrugs. “He told me he misses you sometimes too.”

Hannibal is glad he gave up trying to eat when this conversation started up, because he really would have choked to death on hearing that. He doesn’t even know where to begin with that. Slowly, he realises that he’s sitting stock still in his chair, staring at Face, whose bemused little smile is starting to piss him off.

“You... you talked to Russ? About me? You talked to Russ about me?”

“Yeah, a little.”

“Why the hell did you... what did he...” Hannibal shuts his mouth, tries to pull himself together. He’s never been quite this thrown off-kilter before, not by anything. “Face,” he groans, sagging in his seat, “you shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why not?”

It’s a good question, and Hannibal doesn’t have much in the way of an answer. Because he thinks about Russ rather more than he’d like Face to know? Because he still hasn’t figured out how to give himself up to Face the way he did so quickly and easily with Russ? 

No. Because Face is very clearly up to something, and it’s making Hannibal feel distinctly uncomfortable.

He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. Just so long as you know it’s you I-”

“Yeah, sure, Boss. Hey, what do you want for your birthday, huh?”

Another bombshell. But of course Face could pull up that information if he felt like it. And at least this is a change of subject. He smiles. 

“I can think of a few things.”

Face’s lewd little smirk is back, but he shakes his head. “Want to get you something different. Hey, you like surprises, Boss?”

“Sure. Love ‘em.”

Face’s smile transforms into a broad, happy grin. “Excellent. I’ve got just the thing.”


	4. 4

The really difficult bit was going back to the General. From the moment the idea formed in his head, Face knew this would be where his presentation of the idea, and his own conviction that it was a good plan, were vital to pulling it off. He’s seen Morrison rip apart poorly constructed plans dozens of times, sighing furiously at less competent commanders and calling Hannibal in to fix the mess between them. It’s something to remember, Face knows, that Morrison isn’t just Hannibal’s boss, friend, ex-lover. He was Hannibal’s mentor. The guy he learned all his tricks from. 

And sure, Hannibal’s the better schemer, the more daring, the more creative, but strategy is Morrison’s field too. And however good he is compared to Hannibal, he’s got almost twenty years worth of experience on Face.

Which means that this? Had better be really, really fucking good.

Face has toyed with a hundred different ideas. He could try and trick the General, pretend it wasn’t premeditated, send him an invitation to a birthday party at Hannibal’s place and convince him to stay after everyone else has left, allowing things to develop naturally from there. But that could, potentially, be very awkward. Especially if the older guys failed to realise Face was supposed to be part of the fun too. Especially if they all drank too much. Especially if other people decided to stay late as well.

Or he could pretend to have the idea on the spot, as he stopped by with his and Hannibal’s paperwork. Or he could try and seduce the General and arrange it so that Hannibal walked in on them. Or he could...

...On and on, ideas whirred around in his mind, each dismissed as swiftly as the last. As he knocked on the door of the General’s office, he figured it was time to come to terms with what he knew all along.

There was only ever one tactic for this round, only one way to play this.

The secretary lets him in. Morrison is reading something, leaning back in his chair, and though he allowed Face to be admitted, he doesn’t acknowledge the Lieutenant immediately. Face stands at attention, trying not to chew his lip in nervous anticipation. If this goes wrong and he insults or embarrasses the General, his whole career could end up down the crapper. He could lose his job, and he could lose Hannibal. He’s fairly sure Morrison will go for this. If it’s done right, he’ll go for it. But it’s up to Face to convince him.

After a few moments, Morrison lays the file down on his desk, and looks up at Face with that usual expression of patience and tolerance he reserves for the younger soldiers, but there’s usually something else there for Face. And there it is. Clearly irritated by the interruption, Morrison is nonetheless pleased to see him. He’s taken a personal interest in Face’s career. His protege’s protege. The General has always helped and guided him where he can, and unlike other senior officers Face has encountered, he doesn’t seem to want anything in return. Only once or twice has Morrison’s gaze ever lingered on Face for too long, enough for Face to figure out that the older man finds him attractive, but not so much that it makes things uncomfortable. 

He does it again now, though. A brief up-and-down, admiring him, before he sits up and puts Face at ease. 

He also seems to know that Face is here on personal matters rather than anything work-related, because he gives a tired half-smile and asks, “Any luck with the old boy, Lieutenant?”

Face shakes his head, clasping his hands behind his back. “No, sir. Not really. But I haven’t tried yet. I’ve got a plan.”

“I see. Should you really be telling me what it is, do you think?”

“Yes, sir, I did weigh up the options and figured I probably ought to, since you’re the main part of the plan.”

There’s a heavy pause, and Face uses it to take a breath, thinking very carefully about how, exactly, he’s going to spell this one out.

But Morrison is well ahead of him. Read his fucking mind. The General barks out a laugh, runs a hand through his hair, which is just beginning to thin out on top, and stares at Face in disbelief.

“You gotta be kidding, Lieutenant.”

“Maybe I ought to explain, sir-”

“Why?” Morrison asks, clearly covering surprise with irritation. “Do you think I’m a moron?”

Face’s mouth snaps shut and he shakes his head emphatically. Oh shit. He’s over-played his hand here, clearly. A guy who can out-dominate Hannibal Smith, and Face is trying to... well. Seduce him. He wonders if he can back-peddle. If he should back-peddle. But he already knows the answer to that. The only way to go is onwards. Only one way to play this: straight-up.

He grins. It’s a little forced, but it’ll suffice. “You’re not up for it then, sir?”

Morrison is lost somewhere between amused and pissed off. “You’ve got balls, Lieutenant,” he says, quietly.

Face nods. “Sure do, sir. You can see ‘em if we pull off this plan.”

A shake of that big head. And then Morrison laughs, a short, sharp sound in the quiet office. “Does Hannibal have any clue what you’re up to?”

“I don’t think so, sir. But I did get him to talk a bit. And he still thinks about you. A lot. Like, I take up maybe eighty-eight, eighty-nine percent of his brain power. Ten percent’s used up being Colonel Bad Ass. The rest’s you.”

“I reckon your stats are a bit off there, son.”

“Maybe. Whatever. Sir, the point is, I, uh... I can’t fuck the guy, and you can, and it’s been a long time so he must need... and I was kinda hoping you’d show me what to do too, but the main point is, I want Hannibal to have exactly what he needs for his birthday. And I think you’re what he needs. Sir.”

“You’re inviting me to fuck the man you love.”

Face can feel the sweat cooling on the back of his own neck. “Yes, sir.”

“Knowing full well that John and I were romantically involved for several years...”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you don’t see any issues with this at all?”

Face shakes his head slowly. “No... not if we’re careful. I mean, I certainly don’t want to be pushed aside, but Hannibal’s not going to do that. If this were, hypothetically, to remind you guys how much you liked being together, I guess I could handle sharing him.”

“You’re assuming I’m the sharing type too, son.” Morrison is watching him with narrowed eyes now. Face is getting a little sick of standing in this office explaining himself. He wants to get this sorted.

Wants, he realises, to get to the main event.

He feels his skin begin to flush, his cheeks lighting up red. No doubt Morrison can see it too.

And the General’s getting up. Walking around from behind his desk.

“How does this work, then, Lieutenant?” he asks, leaning against the front edge of his desk, barely two feet away from Face. He’s a big guy. Desk work hasn’t softened him yet. Could probably give Face a run for his money in the sparring pit, could probably give Hannibal a run for his money, and that’s pretty much the point, isn’t it?

Face swallows reflexively. He’s never... Hannibal is the only man he’s ever... and planning this is one thing, deciding he wants to be an equal part in Hannibal’s birthday surprise is a simple matter of pride, but in practicality can he do this? Be involved with another man? Is there, in fact, a place for him in this at all?

Morrison seems to be considering that too. He’s looking Face over again, but that is not the normal kind of scrutiny Face is used to from older guys. He isn’t being undressed in anyone’s imagination right now. No, the expression on the General’s face is very similar to the one Hannibal wears when he’s trying to convince himself a suicidal plan is nevertheless worth going for. And if Hannibal really did learn his trade from Morrison, there’s only one possible conclusion the older man can come to.

“If we do this,” Morrison says, still watching him with those sharp eyes, “every dot’s gotta connect. No loose ends, nobody left out. Right, son?”

Face nods. Right. And this is his plan, his relationship, his initiative. Morrison doesn’t move, appears to still be considering his options here, but Face is very, very good at reading people. The General is waiting.

Reaching out with one hand, he holds the General’s gaze as he lets his fingers trail over the other man’s chest. Down, down, then round to rest his hand on a hip as he leans in, eyes fluttering shut, lips parting. Morrison doesn’t respond for a moment, allows Face to move up against him, exploring very cautiously as he nuzzles lips against stubble.

Face finds himself up against the wall, hands pinned to either side of his head, the General’s movement so sudden and unexpected that Face never stood a hope in hell of resisting. The older man has him pinned, kissing him, hard and rough, as he nudges Face’s thighs apart with a knee. Face has no idea how they got here, but he’s got no complaints. He moans, low and deep, letting the General in, surrendering...

And then, suddenly, all that heat and friction and pleasure is gone, and Morrison is standing back, still holding his wrists against the wall, and laughing at him.

“Heh. You gotta be kidding me, Peck? You want to fuck Hannibal Smith, and that’s how quick you give yourself up? Please tell me you’re serious, this isn’t some pipe dream, you’re actually going to pay attention if I show you...”

Face is panting, staring wide-eyed. “Wait, wait, no, I... Uh...” he tries to form some kind of defence, but, well. Man’s got a point. “Guess I need your help something bad, sir.”

“Guess you do.” 

Morrison lets go of his wrists and laughs quietly as he goes back round his desk. Face sags against the wall, watching him go, wondering if that’s his dismissal. He’s half-hard already, needs... wonders if the General would...

But those words echo in his ears. No loose ends, nobody left out. He can’t do this without Hannibal. Doesn’t want to. Time to go home, drag Hannibal out of his own office and persuade him to indulge in a little invigorating recreation.

Well.

At least he has an answer to one of his niggling questions now. He’s not going to have any problems, in a sexual-response kind of way, with Russell Morrison in their bed. There are other possible complications, but he’s decided not to think about those. At all. Ever. If any of them come to pass, he’s screwed either way, so it isn’t worth thinking about, and it is worth the risk. Almost any thrill is worth the risk.

“Friday, our place, then,” he says, as he tries to think unarousing thoughts and heads for the door. “About nine thirty alright for you, sir?”

“Your plan better be watertight, kid. Off you go.”

Face nods, licks his lips, and bolts for home.


	5. 5

The reason Hannibal never broadcasts the date of his birthday is that this day has always been... unsatisfactory. Dull at best, devastatingly horrible at worst. As a child, his father was always away and his mother never let him have a party or expensive gifts, which set the tone for his teenage years, where his first girlfriend dumped him on his fifteenth birthday, his first boyfriend decided it’d be a lovely surprise to out him to his father the next year, and on his seventeenth birthday he went down to the army recruitment centre and asked the nice Lieutenant behind the desk to just get him the hell out of that dump of a town.

When he turned eighteen, his first day as a man, he woke up in the abandoned shed his squad was using as a hideout to discover the enemy had hunted them down and were in the process of murdering the corporal in his sleep. That was the first time he saw someone killed up close. Saw the blood and the... other fluids, and the way the eyes flew open then faded shut, and then one of them noticed he’d woken up and...

He shakes his head, chasing away the memories. Nothing so dramatic has happened on his birthday for many years, but it’s tough breaking the habit of a lifetime, and so he just keeps the information to himself. Face, of course, has his ways of learning absolutely anything about anyone, and Hannibal is just amazed that it took him three years to figure it out.

It’s almost lunch time, and Hannibal feels... content. Face woke him up in a very welcome way earlier on, lips and tongue working away, humming happy birthday in the back of his throat until Hannibal came laughing, which is a new one on him. The morning has been peaceful. An early meeting, a bit of paperwork, nothing strenuous. And now lunch with Russ, who never says happy birthday out of deference to Hannibal’s silence, but, every year, hands him a bottle of something expensive and single malt and says-

“Just had that lying around, thought you might appreciate it more than me.”

Hannibal examines the label and blinks in surprise.

“Lying around?”

“Sure.”

“You had a bottle of Blue Label lying around and couldn’t think of anything better to do with it?”

Russ shrugs. They’re out in the real world, as Hannibal thinks of it. Lunch is never in Russ’ office, because he says that if he eats in there, he might as well sleep in there too. And Hannibal hates to see him behind a desk. His fondest memories of Russ are watching him in action, alert and switched on, running, fighting, thinking...

...Well, okay. Maybe not his very fondest memories, but a close second...

Then there’s one of those moments that happen occasionally, when one of them says something and they have to very quickly and carefully pretend that it never happened.

Russ says, “What’s better than you, John?”

That’s a Moment. That’s definitely a Moment. Hannibal can see Russ already closing up, erasing the fact that he said something like that from his memory, expecting Hannibal to do the same. There’s a tension in the older man’s shoulders, a quick shake of the head and-

“Fucking softie,” Hannibal mutters, smiling.

Russ stares at him, shakes his head again, and turns his attention back to his food. The white plastic bag with the bottle of Scotch in it sits on the table between them. Hannibal wonders whether he ought to stash it away for a special occasion, or just damn well enjoy it while he has the chance. 

Better to have someone to share it with, though, and Face hates whisky. First time Hannibal poured him a glass, the kid went and mixed it with coke. The Colonel could have wept.

“Have to say, John,” Russ says, quietly, “I’m pretty impressed. This time a few years ago you thought you were the Lone Ranger, and now you’re actually capable of teamwork, communication... ever since that boy showed up. He’s been good for you.”

Hannibal nods. He has to agree, Face has been fantastic for his social skills, dragging him out to actually engage with people, showing him how it’s done. Just being with him, teaching him how people can live and work together. He’s gone from one friend in all the world to a good, respectable handful. He’s even got a team, foisted on him by Russ, but it was Face who talked him down, smoothed his feathers and persuaded him that a team is a good thing. That he didn’t have to throw a tantrum over it. That he could not only use these people, but enjoy their company too. 

And, to Hannibal’s surprise, he’s found he’s almost as good with people as Face is at times. He’s just less ballsy about it. 

“Face is a godsend,” Hannibal agrees.

“You’re telling me. I haven’t seen a sniper that good in more years than I can remember.”

Hannibal grins. “I haven’t seen an ass that good...”

“Careful.” The General glances quickly to left and right of their table, but no one is paying so much as a hint of attention to them.

Hannibal laughs. This was one of those things they argued about towards the end. Russ could be so fucking paranoid about this stuff at times, and Hannibal had been the sort of child who poked wasp nests with a stick knowing fine well what’d happen and, as Russ told him several times, he’d never got around to growing up at all, ever, and could he please consider doing so? And then Hannibal would inevitably break into a rant about how Russ patronised him, so indignant and self-righteous, exaggerating half the details... he can hardly believe he said some of those things to the man he loved.

He’s pretty sure he’s done his growing up now. Damn well better have, he supposes, at the age of thirty. Still, that doesn’t stop him from teasing every now and then. He leans over the table and steals one of Russ’ fries.

“Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed. That firm, round, high ass...”

“John... We are three hundred yards from the base and we are in public...”

“Relax, will you?

Russ rolls his eyes, but to Hannibal’s delighted amusement, there’s the nudge of a big booted foot against his calf, beneath the table. Russ used to do that all the time, in meetings, at mealtimes, always when there were other people about. It bemused young John at first, but Russ was quick enough to explain. Means I’m thinking about fucking your brains out, son, but can’t do it... no time, no space, so a quick kicking’s all you get. It’s become more of an in-joke lately than a sign of affection, a remnant of something Hannibal almost regrets losing. Almost. What they have now, he reminds himself, is far better. The stability of friendship. Of course it’s better.

“Hey,” he says, kicking back, “it’s my birthday, let me take a few risks, huh?”

Russ laughs in astonishment. “When do I ever deny you a risk, John? Last month, when you wanted to take a bite out of that drug cartel just for the heck of it? Or before that, when your grand plan for rescuing a hostage was to get your entire team separated across five acres of jungle then stage your own kidnapping? Or when-”

“Yeah, yeah, but that’s just risk of life and limb, that’s my damn day job-”

“And since when have you ever announced it’s your birthday? If you’re not careful the waiting staff will come out with a cake and candles and we’ll all have to sing.”

Hannibal shrugs. To be honest, he kind of likes the way Face has been treating him special today. The extra affection, the gifts - just little things, a couple of books, some nice cigars. He could get used to the attention.

After lunch, he takes his bottle of scotch and leaves Russ with the bill. He heads back to base to check up on his team, and isn’t that weird? His team. His team. He’s got eight men beneath him, including Face, and he’s also got an executive officer who’s taken a load of paperwork off his hands. He wanted Face as his second in command, but Russ put his foot down on that. Too young, too inexperienced. So now there’s a Captain who comes into his office and does all the complicated shit Hannibal has been juggling himself his entire career. He just has to sign off on some of it. 

After lunch it’s a meeting with his XO. The red-headed Captain is quicker and far more efficient than usual, and when he shoves Hannibal towards the door at five o’clock, it’s with a wink and a “Go and enjoy your day”.

Yeah. All right, he thinks, as he heads back to the place he shares with Face. This birthday thing could be okay after all.

Face has another present for him when he gets home. Hannibal rolls his eyes as he drops his keys onto the little table by the front door. The kid’s lounging in the doorway, smirk in place as his eyes rake down Hannibal’s body in a clear indicator that Face is psyching up for an evening of fun.

But he’s holding a little parcel. The contrast of bright red, sparkly wrapping paper from some commercial gift shop and the little length of olive green paracord knotted skillfully around it sparks Hannibal’s interest, but he tries to play it cool. Shoots the kid a grin in greeting and returns the smouldering look.

Face is wearing exactly what Hannibal hoped he might. The tight blue jeans that make his ass look incredible, like something Hannibal wants to take a bite out of. He’s given into that urge plenty of times before, shoving his boy face-first on the couch and scraping his teeth down over taut denim, but that little game never lasts long. The jeans are for looking. Once time to touch comes around, he wants them out of the damn way as quickly as possible.

Over that, Face has the white shirt Hannibal bought him about a month back. He saw the damn thing on the TV, in an advertisement for a fairly expensive chain of stores, and decided that if it looked that good on the male model, it’d look fucking phenomenal on Face. So he went out and hunted down that exact shirt using the same approach he’d use to hunt down anything else he wanted; determination and charm with a hint of threat behind it all. Turned out the shirt was from an exclusive line, but once he’d let slip he wanted it for his boyfriend, the perfectly dressed clerk became all smiles and helpfulness. Weird, he’d figured, but maybe it was the same as the way straight guys seem to go all ga-ga over the thought of two girls getting it on...

Either way, he’d got his hands on it, and he was absolutely right. It clings to Face in all the right places, hangs loose in others, the material is soft and cool, and Face just looks divine in it. Broad-chested, lean hipped, a little hair showing where the collar gapes. Hannibal sometimes wonders whether working with the kid every day is actually one of his better ideas, since the sight of Face in nothing more glamorous than his regular uniform is enough to turn Hannibal’s head and send the blood running south, but the thought of not having him right here is almost sickening. He needs his boy. Needs him in every way. And one way more than the rest is pressing for attention as he looks over Face, appreciating the effort the lad’s obviously made just for him.

Hannibal takes off his coat and hangs it up, but still Face just leans there in the entrance to the living room, palm outstretched, offering Hannibal the box. Maybe, Hannibal thinks, it’s something practical. He lifts a finger and points at it.

“Tell me that’s for tonight, kid.”

Face bites his lip in the way he knows drives Hannibal crazy. “Sure, Boss. For tonight. And for after too, I hope.”

“Yeah?” Hannibal pokes the carefully wrapped box. Not condoms, surely? Those are only for situations where mess would be very undesirable. And lube? They have long-established favourites in that department, but maybe Face has discovered something new, something-

“You gonna open it or just stare at it, Boss?”

Hannibal takes the little box and leads Face into the living room. The kid has dinner already ordered in. Nothing fancy tonight, that would be too much for Hannibal. Just pizza and beer, and though Hannibal requested a movie for them to watch together, the TV is off, no tell-tale DVD boxes lying around. Oh well, he can think of much better entertainment for the two of them than anything Hollywood could ever churn out.

“Open it,” Face says, snatching away the pizza box as Hannibal tries to reach for the lid. “Present first, food after.”

Hannibal glances at his boy again, his cock twitching at nothing more than the sight of the man he loves. “Can I suggest another plan of action?” 

“No. Boss, c’mon.” Face steps closer, lifts Hannibal’s hand and forces him to look at the box. Hannibal’s intrigued, yes, but he doesn’t need material gifts. He needs nothing other than his boy. And yes, okay, one day he’ll find a way to ask Face for everything he physically needs, but that’s not important. Still, this seems to mean a lot to Face, so he tugs at the little knot in the length of paracord which Face has, for some reason, chosen to secure the wrapping paper with.

“You run out of sticky tape, kid?”

“Open. It.”

“Okay, okay.”

The knot falls loose, and Hannibal throws the cord down on the table next to the pizza. Face hovers right there beside him, radiating a little anxiety. Hannibal glances at him again, but the kid’s focus is on the box. So Hannibal takes off the lid.

“Oh,” he says. It’s not a disappointed ‘oh’, but a slightly confused one. He raises an eyebrow at Face, who takes the box right back off him.

“You made that?” Hannibal asks. 

Face nods. He looks a little embarrassed, but is doing a damn good job of pushing that down, bringing forth that winning confidence, and he smiles. 

“Hold your arm out, Boss.”

Hannibal lifts his right arm, and Face takes the carefully knotted paracord band out, and drops the box. 

“Very practical,” Hannibal says, faintly bemused, as Face circles the bracelet around his wrist.

“This,” says Face, quietly “is not practical.” He slips the monkey fist knot through its loop and secures the bracelet in place. “This is to remind you who you belong to, John. I made this. It’s mine, not yours. You just wear it.”

Hannibal can’t do anything but stare at him. The idea is overwhelming. Face is claiming him. His boy is making his mark. And he’s done it so cleverly, with this simple, innocuous token, something no one will look twice at, which can be worn, not just in public, but at work, on missions, in meetings with Generals...

“You remind me who I belong to all the time,” Face says. “Now I can remind you. All the time. You’ve got to wear it always.”

Hannibal nods, trying to find his voice. “I won’t even take it off to shower.”

“Good.” Face smiles at him, squeezing his hand slightly before letting go. Hannibal wouldn’t have kept his rank for long if he was in the habit of allowing himself to be thrown off-balance by the unexpected, but he indulges himself this time. Face has never... hardly ever... not out loud. Maybe it will be possible for them to...

“Pizza, Boss?”

It’s their favourite indulgent food, thick crust, extra cheese, with every kind of meat piled on. No vegetables allowed anywhere close, except for Face’s half with its olives and Hannibal has decided never to question that. Kid likes olives on everything. Hannibal watches him pick them off one by one with long, dexterous fingers and flick the little fruits into his mouth. And oh god, what a mouth, what a beautiful, sinful mouth...

Hannibal stuffs the rest of his slice hastily into his mouth, chews and swallows. Face eats fast. They both do. You learn to eat anything and eat it quickly in their line of work, but Face has put away two bits of pizza by the time Hannibal has downed one, and that, he figures, ought to be enough to keep his boy from complaining of hunger for the rest of the night.

“C’mon,” he says, grabbing Face’s hand as he reaches back towards the box. “Let’s have an early night, huh? The only reason you ever wear those pants is so I can rip ‘em off you-”

Face nods slowly, glancing at the clock. Hannibal follows his gaze. Almost eight thirty. So what? It’s not like Hannibal intends to let the kid sleep any time soon.

“Come on, Face.” Hannibal’s up on his feet. He holds out his hand, eyes drawn to the paracord band that now hangs around his wrist. It looks just right there, like he’s always worn it, his whole life. And maybe, he thinks, he’ll wear it the entire rest of his life. His token from Face. The kid’s claim on him. Oh yeah. There’s nothing that’s ever going to be able to break that.

Face smiles and nods, takes his hand and up he gets. Hannibal grins and pulls him close, hip-to-hip, kisses him. Runs his hands down over that impossibly perfect ass, feeling the heat radiating off his boy, the little tremble as Face winds his arms around Hannibal’s waist, the growing hardness between them. And he knows this is it. This is what life is for, moments like this, the closest anyone can ever get to a real connection with another living being, knowing without doubt that everything you feel is returned, that-

Face pulls away, and for a second Hannibal panicks. Okay then. Maybe not perfect, not yet. Still some old issues at play here, but perfection is something to work at, to achieve, and by definition it isn’t easy.

“Bedroom,” Face murmurs, tugging Hannibal’s hand as he heads for the door.

They make it as far as the hallway before they fall into each other. Face’s back hits the wall, and his knee comes up, hooking a leg on Hannibal’s hip. No sign of his usual mischief, no power struggle, he isn’t going to make Hannibal work for it this time, and there’s something about that which draws a long, low growl from deep in the Colonel’s chest.

“You want it bad tonight, don’t you, sweetheart?” he rumbles against Face’s throat. The kid’s breath hitches in response, his whole body pliant and every breath full of need. Hannibal’s not seen him quite like this before, this vulnerable, this submissive. It’s beautiful. He scrapes his teeth along the hard line of Face’s collarbone, and god damn it, the kid actually whines and clings to him harder.

Rutting against Face in the hallway isn’t going to be enough, not even close. And the lube’s in Hannibal’s bedroom, carefully hidden so there’s no chance of their teammates accidentally stumbling on it. Face seems to be having the same thoughts, and reluctantly pushes Hannibal away. Then he flashes a wicked little grin and runs, darting into the bedroom and slamming the door behind him.

Well, okay then. It’s games night, is it? Hannibal can go with that.

He tries the door. Unlocked, but there’s something heavy against the other side, probably Face himself since there’s been no sound of furniture moving across the floor. He turns the handle and puts his own weight against the door, just a little, testing. It gives only slightly. Face is strong. He’s not going to give up easily. 

“C’mon, honey,” Hannibal growls through the crack in the door. “Don’t pretend you don’t want this.”

Apparently he got his line right, because Face’s weight eases a little until Hannibal pushes harder, and then the resistance is back again.

“I won’t let you touch me!” Face shouts back. That tone, that’s his playing tone, intentionally rather easier to read than when he’s really acting, really trying to deceive. This is a new game, though. Face is drawing him in, teaching him the rules as they go, and Hannibal wonders why they’ve never played this one before. It’s exactly Face’s kind of game.

He gives the door another push. Face might be strong, but Hannibal has the advantage. He’s not only stronger, but taller and heavier, and when it comes to a competition like this, both of them pushing on what is essentially plywood, the kid’s not going to win. Not even close. 

Still, Hannibal lets him have a few moments before he shoves the door open wide enough to get his body through. Face staggers under the force of it, but spins and tries to slam the door on him. No chance. They’re more evenly matched on speed, but Hannibal is supposed to win this. He grabs Face and shoves him against the wall, kissing him again. There’s a token resistance there, hands scrabbling against Hannibal’s chest, knee up between them, and then, out of nowhere, that total submission is back, everything in Face relenting, his mouth opening up, fingers wrapping into his shirt.

Hannibal’s mind is reeling. He likes this game. Likes it a lot. He used to play something a little like this with Russ, years ago, teasing the man all day, flirting, touching, leading him on and then acting amazed and innocent - What the fuck, Boss, get off me! - when Russ grabbed him, manhandled him, and threw him face-down over a desk. Drove the older man crazy. He can see why.

Face is away again without even a hint of warning, grabbing Hannibal’s arm, twisting, and slipping out of his grasp. But he’s backing into a corner between the bed and the wardrobe. He’s a damn fine little liar, is Face, and he’s projecting everything he wants Hannibal to see. Fear and lust. A frightened animal whose body is nonetheless desperate to respond to the alpha male that’s got its scent. 

Hannibal grins a wolfish grin and circles round to the other side of the bed. He knows a thing or two about creatures. You don’t get a positive response by chasing them down. You have to coax and cajole and play to the side that wants to trust you...

He crouches on the end of the bed, between Face and the door. Then he holds out a hand towards Face, who shakes his head.

“Y-you can’t. Sir, you can’t touch me like this!”

Sir? Oh lord, Face is not pulling his punches tonight. 

“C’mon, Lieutenant,” Hannibal purrs, voice like silk catching on rough brick. “You’ll love it. You’ll fucking beg me for it before I’m finished with you. I know lads like you, and I know what you need. Gonna make this real good for you, sweetheart.”

“You... You do this with the other guys...?”

Hannibal shakes his head slowly. “I’m very picky, Lieutenant. Only the best. Only the most beautiful...”

That seems to bring out the needy side. Face’s eyes widen, and he takes one cautious step forwards. Wants this. Fears it. That’s the theme. And Hannibal knows what his role is supposed to be. Hungry, older officer, desperate for a taste of that ass but not wanting to scar the kid or ruin his chances of getting him a second time...

“And you,” he murmurs, “are so, so beautiful... No one ever told you that, kid?”

Face drops his eyes and shakes his head. Liar.

“That’s cause they weren’t good enough for you. You need someone who can see just how gorgeous you are, what a rare, flawless jewel...”

Face’s breath hitches in his chest, and he eases forwards again. Knees against the bed. Staring at each other. Face was never this stupid or gullible, it’s part of what Hannibal loves so much about him, but there’s something about the kid pretending this way. Even if Hannibal would never pursue a man so clearly frightened of him, there’s something delicious about this little act played out by his lover. He reaches out a hand again, movements slow and careful. Face stares at the hand, then lifts his own. Fingers outstretched, so, so slowly inching forward to brush against Hannibal’s fingertips.

“See?” he growls, “Nothing to be frightened of.”

“It’s gonna hurt,” Face whimpers.

“Only a little. Not for long. Look.” Hannibal backs off, standing, retreating to the bureau beyond the foot of the bed. It’s locked, and the key is under the framed photo of Hannibal’s sister. It’s a nuisance, but the risk is not worth taking. Besides, by the time Hannibal has a few sachets of lube out and the door locked again, Face is kneeling on the bed. Hannibal carefully hands him one of the packets.

“That’ll make it easy for you, kid.”

Face meets his gaze and bites his bottom lip again. Just the way he knows Hannibal loves, that little display of vulnerability that goes right to the Colonel’s cock. Which is already hard and straining against his pants. Time to get this moving. He’s got plans for Face tonight, and once this game is done there are a dozen more they can play.

“C’mon,” he coaxes, reaching out to stroke his fingertips down Face’s arm. The kid doesn’t move as Hannibal climbs onto the bed, crawling close, stroking his thigh, down then back up and in, fingers ghosting over the bulge in those sinfully tight jeans. He presses his thumb to the straining button of those jeans, and meets Face’s eye again.

There’s something new in his gaze, new and genuine. A challenge. 

Hannibal lunges and Face bolts at exactly the same moment, but Hannibal figures his character in this little role play has won. He grabs Face around the waist and slams him down on the bed. He could go face-down, it’d be easier to hold the kid, but that’s not how he wants this, so he plants the heel of his hand on Face’s solar plexus and skillfully unhooks the buttons of Face’s jeans one-handed. The kid puts up a token struggle, staying in-character damn well for someone who so clearly wants a good fucking. The jeans are off in one swift yank, and Face is, of course, wearing nothing whatsoever underneath. Hannibal wraps his hand around that beautiful thick shaft and strokes quickly, causing Face’s struggles to abruptly cease. The boy’s whole body flops back on the bed, but his hips come up, straining towards Hannibal’s touch.

“You like that, kid?” Hannibal growls.

“Oh,” Face pants, “Oh, sir - sir, please!”

Hannibal isn’t going to resist that invitation. He tears the packet of lube open with his teeth as he shoves Face’s knees apart and tugs his own zip down. Just the zip. He pulls himself out, slicks up quickly, and pushes those long legs up into the air.

Face begins to put up a fuss again, wriggling, shying away, skin flushed and hot and - Hannibal ducks his head to lick a hard nipple - delicious. Every touch draws a fresh sound from Face. He’s responsive normally, but he’s really playing up to it now, appealing to every dominant cell in Hannibal’s body, and there are quite a few of those.

“Oh no,” he whines, “Nonono, Boss, please...” but he’s really not impeding Hannibal’s ability to pin him down at all. Still, if he doesn’t make this quick, Face will change the rules. The rules are always Face’s, and it’s his prerogative to change them at whim. Hannibal doesn’t mind since the kid always comes up with the best bedroom games.

Face is more than used to Hannibal’s considerable length and girth by now, and can happily take him with no preparation and minimal slick. They’ve had plenty of practice, and the boy loves it. Turns out, he’s not even capable of pretending otherwise. He wraps his legs around Hannibal’s waist, his head thrown back and a constant, quavering moan escaping his parted lips as Hannibal pushes forward, driving home.

Games tend to end at this point, and this one dutifully does so. Face pulls Hannibal’s head down and kisses him, hard, as he bucks his hips invitingly. Hannibal thrusts, finding their pace, fast and deep as possible. They can make this last all night, draw it out indefinitely, and Hannibal promises himself they will. Later. Right now, what they need is the first climax of the night.

He thrusts forward into Face’s grasping heat, head lowered to the kid’s shoulder, mouth finding sweat-slicked skin there, tasting, sucking, sinking his teeth in and laying claim, as he does every night. Face’s shouts of pleasure grow louder and higher, hands scrabbling at Hannibal’s back, pulling him in harder with each thrust. Hannibal is vaguely aware that he’s growling in the back of his throat, but there’s nothing he can do, nothing he wants to do about that. 

“Ohgod,” Face whines, his whole body undulating and trembling, heels digging into Hannibal’s back. “Please, John, harder, ohgodplease...”

He can’t deny his boy, so harder it is, harder and faster and deeper, and he knows he’s gone long before the first shudders run through him, couldn’t make this last any longer if he tried. Face is with him though. He can feel it, the coiled power in his boy beginning to break loose, everything crumbling apart now, the rhythm lost, nothing but frantic gasping and the sounds of skin-on-skin and the deep, spicy scent of highly aroused adult male. 

Face comes first, hot semen spilling over his belly, slicking Hannibal’s abs, everything in him clenching - to Hannibal’s relief. The extra pressure grasping at his cock tips him over the edge. He hears himself shout Temp! as he loses it, hips stuttering frantically, spilling everything he has deep, deep into his panting, whimpering, trembling boy.

It’s long minutes before Hannibal is able to move. There’s a moan of loss as he pulls out of Face, and he rolls onto his side, nuzzling into the Lieutenant’s shoulder. There’s a comfortable spot there where he can rest for a few minutes, until they’re ready to begin again.

“Fuck, Boss,” Face murmurs, puffing out his cheeks before exhaling hard. 

“Yeah,” Hannibal agrees, trailing fingers across Face’s ribs. “Yeah, kid. And that’s just the start,” he adds, grinning his wolf grin against the kid’s shoulder.

Face laughs lightly. He glances at the clock and pushes himself up, rolling Hannibal off him. “Oh, yeah,” he says. “It’s gonna be a long night, Boss.”

Hannibal watches him swing his legs off the bed. He frowns. “Where are you going?”

“To sort out your next surprise.”

Hannibal groans. “Oh, c’mon. No more surprises.”

“This is the surprise. All the other presents were just buying time. Wait there.”

“Yeah, right.” Hannibal tries to get up off the bed, but Face physically shoves him back down among the pillows and rumpled sheets.

“Stay,” he commands. “Right there, Boss. And close your eyes.”

“Face, wha-”

“Close them.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so. How’s that?”

“You giving me orders now, LT?”

Face tilts his head to one side, half-way through pulling on his boxers. “Not yet. Okay, Boss. Please close your eyes and wait there.”

Hannibal nods and settles back again, but doesn’t close his eyes. Face sighs and goes to the wardrobe, coming back with one of Hannibal’s ties. 

“Better blindfold you. Not that I don’t trust you, but...”

“Okay, kid. That could be kinda kinky...”

The last thing Hannibal sees before the tie is wrapped around his head is Face rolling his eyes in exasperation.


End file.
